Resurrection Sunday


Trying to teach E the “Liz” face.

This one makes me laugh. Such an accurate capture of our life. Mama trying to make sure E’s headband is in the right place since E enjoys pulling them off. And daddy mumbling something about how annoying he thinks headbands are. Yep. True life.


This family of mine is more than I deserve. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed. 
Her sweet smile & his dimples. I mean.

Last year I remember thinking about how hard it must have been for Mary to watch her son be crucified. And I wondered about the unending love I would feel for the baby growing inside my belly.

This year I stood in the back of the sanctuary, holding my daughter, and fighting back tears.

Tears of joy. That I have a savior who went to the cross for me. For my disobedience. A savior, who had a mama. That loved Him. And raised Him. And accepted God’s calling on her life to let Him be beaten & mocked & crucified.

How overwhelming & reassuring. That my love for this child in my arms is nothing compared to the love poured out that day. This gift I call Emma is so abundantly loved & prayed for & cherished by her mama. Yet she is held in the palm of my creator’s hand. He calls her daughter. He went to the cross for her.

His love for her is unending. Even more so than my own.

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